


Reasons

by flamehairedwritings



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Me rectifying certain choices of S3, Swearing, Unplanned bedsharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamehairedwritings/pseuds/flamehairedwritings
Summary: The end of the world can, as expected, change a lot of things.
Relationships: Jim "Chief" Hopper/Reader, Jim "Chief" Hopper/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Reasons

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Please don’t copy, steal or repost my work; credit does not count.

“Pull over at the next motel.”

“No.”

“Pull over, Hopper.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Sooner we get there, sooner we can turn round and get home.”

“It’s late, Hopper. You’re tired, I’m tired, Alexei’s tir—”

“I don’t care.”

Glancing at you as silence looms and finding your eyebrows raised, Jim Hopper attempts to correct himself swiftly.

“I don’t care that he’s tired.”

“Yeah, but I am. Very much so. And so are you.”

After a pause, he then releases a long, irritated sigh and you know you’ve won.

But have you? Have you really?

Hopper’s an ass, everyone knows that, but the past week he’s been even more of an ass, and you’re starting to absolutely despise being near him.

You’d worked at the Station with him for nearly three years now and you’d helped him with all the extra activity the town of Hawkins was unaware of. You’d kept El’s return a secret for him and helped him out with looking after her. You’d do anything for him, and you got the feeling he would for you, too.

Oh, and over the years, too, feelings had started to develop.

You like to think they were also reciprocated because not one month ago Hopper had asked you out for a drink, just the two of you. Then, after agreeing you’d both like to do it again, you’d finally managed to get your schedules to match up and last week you’d gone on a proper dinner date. It had been… wonderful.

You’d realised as you were sat there, sharing a bottle of wine and laughing with him, that those two dates were the first time you and he had just talked of normal things, no work, no end of the world business involved. It had been… really wonderful.

But then end of the world business had reared it’s head again and here you are, sat in the passenger seat of a car that is carrying you, the Chief of Hawkins and a Russian neither of you can understand to the home of a conspiracy theorist.

And you’re starting to hate Jim Hopper.

You’d seen him angry before, seen him raging, seen him distraught, but this was different. This was constant, unchanging, and you _hated_ it. You could never say the right thing, it was like he was irritated to be around you. Several times you’d considered just walking away, but this was bigger than you or he. People were in danger, once again, and it was your duty to fight the danger.

So, you’d put up with Hopper, silently vowed to yourself that you’d just go back to a professional, friendly relationship, and that would be it.

You’re so relieved when a motel sign glows in the distant and he actually turns into it.

Finally, some peace and quiet and space.

You’ll insist he and Alexei share a room, _I’m so sorry, you poor guy_ , and get one to yourself and just _relax_. As much as you can, anyway.

The thought of finally being alone helps you to hold your tongue as Hopper mutters under his breath after parking up and steps out, slamming the car door shut. You step out, too, and watch silently as he half-drags Alexei out of the car, the poor man blinking sleepily.

_Don’t say anything, it’ll just create an argument that you don’t have the energy for._

You lead the way as the three of you head inside the quiet motel to the desk.

A man behind it looks up, unsmiling.

You, to make up for it, widen your smile.

“Good evening, we’d like two rooms,” you say quickly, before Hopper can speak.

The man glances between you all. “Sorry, miss, we only got one room.”

_Are.  
_

_You._

_Fucking._

_Kidding._

_Me._

Your smile stays fixed in place. “Right. Well. Okay.”

“We’ll just head on to the next one—” Hopper starts to say but you will absolutely _not_ have that. This is your win of the week, as small as it is.

“Nope. One is fine. Thank you very much.” You damn near slap your hand down on the desk you’re so forcing your joviality.

The three men look at you, Alexei probably only because the other two are, but you just continue smiling.

_I’d better damn well fall asleep straight away._

—

It’s the smallest room you’ve ever seen.

You can just about squeeze between the end of the double bed and the wall to get to the bathroom. After you’ve exited it, Hopper hoists Alexei up from where he’d been nearly asleep on a chair and marches him to the bathroom.

You watch as he points at the bathtub and says, “Get in”.

Alexei looks at him, then the tub.

“In,” Hopper orders, thrusting his finger at the tub again.

Alexei doesn’t say a word as he climbs in and settles down, his eyes instantly closing.

Sympathy surges within you.

Hopper emerges from the bathroom, closing the door, and runs a hand down his face.

_Maybe she did have the right idea about stoppin’. Couple of hours would be nice._

He looks up at you to admit as much, the beginnings of a smile forming, when his gaze meets yours boring into him.

“What?”

“What’s going on?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you being such a dick?”

His eyebrows shoot up and irritation, fuelled by weariness, rises within him. “Excuse me?”

You’ve started so there’s no way you’re going to stop, looking at him almost in disbelief. “You’re being such an _asshole_ , Hop. You’re just yelling all the time and a lot of it’s at me.”

He lets out what sounds like a faint scoff. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way—”

Your voice rises instantly in indignation. “ _What kind of a fucking apology is that?_ ”

“I’m _trying_ , okay—”

“No, you’re _not_. You’re just so _angry_ all the time, you’re like a child who can’t control himself. It’s not like this is fucking _new_ to us, Hopper, we know how to deal with this—”

“That’s why I’m so _fucking_ angry!” he shouts above you, his voice cutting through the air. You freeze, staring at him as he continues. “I want this to be _over_. I want to wake up in the morning and not wonder how my kid is going to be in danger! I want all this to just go away!”

For a moment, you’re stunned into silence.

A reason… but not a justification.

Licking your lips, your mouth opens then closes for a second as you consider your words. “I feel the same way, Hop. I’m worried about everyone, too, I wake up so _anxious_ of what’s going to happen every single day but… I’m not yelling and taking it out on you or anyone else, am I.”

He looks at you and you have no idea what he’s thinking.

Shrugging, you look away and shake your head. Rage or silence, that’s all you get these days. Suddenly, you realise how exhausted you are.

“Anyway. I just wanted to get that out,” your voice is quieter as you kick your shoes off, not wanting to look at him now. “We’ll talk about it another time, I’m too tired for this now.”

You move to the bed and climb in, turn your back to him and close your eyes. You don’t care if he joins you or not. You just want to sleep and, yes, for this to be over, too.

You don’t know what the next day is going to bring, you haven’t for a long time. Hopper had always been the only constant, and now he, too, is unstable, loose, wild. You hadn’t wanted to admit that for a while but now…

_Please just sleep._

Holding the covers under your chin, having to stop yourself from pulling them over your head, you just focus on your breathing. A minute probably passes before you hear him move, quietly. It sounds like he removes his shoes then removes things from his pockets, gently placing them down on the bedside table furthest from you.

You hear the light click off.

The bed covers rise off of you, the mattress dips slightly behind you and the covers fall again.

He soon warms the bed.

_This is what every night of my life could have been like._

You don’t know where the thought comes from.

You don’t like it. You don’t like the regret that follows it and threatens to take over your mind.

_Stop wallowing. It isn’t helpful._

“Are you cold?”

The question startles you, making you jump slightly, your eyes snapping open. Clearing your throat, you adjust your head on the pillow.

“No.”

“Good.”

You don’t respond, closing your eyes again, allowing the silence to stretch.

“You sure?”

You don’t open your eyes this time.

“ _Yes_.”

“Okay.”

He seems to take the irritated hint. Or so you think for exactly five seconds.

“I’m sorry.”

You open your eyes, staring at the thick curtains covering the window across the room.

“I know.”

“No, really, I am.”

“I know you are.”

“I just—”

“Can we just leave it.”

_Please, not now—_

“No, I—” He exhales a breath and you pause, waiting. He clears his throat after a moment. “… You mean somethin’ to me.”

You think you stop breathing.

“You mean a lot to me, actually,” he continues, his voice low, quiet, “and I… I don’t want anyone else I care about to get hurt.”

You bite at your lower lip, keeping your gaze fixed on the curtains.

_Don’t give your heart again._

“You don’t continuously yell at people you care about,” you murmur.

“I know, I know… I…” You hear him exhale again, an edge of frustration to it this time, but you get the feeling it’s not directed at you. “I don’t… feel like myself right now. I know that’s not an excuse, I know I can’t say anythin’ that’ll take away what you’re feelin’ but… I… I just want you to know I’m sorry and I’m gonna try harder. At being better.”

You swallow hard.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t want to make promises or to hear them. You don’t want to fight. You don’t want to feel alone anymore.

You don’t want to give up on him, either.

Without a word, you draw your hand out of the covers and reach it behind you. There’s a pause. Then, you feel his hand gently take yours. As soon as he does, you lace your fingers together and pull his arm around you.

You ignore the quiet, relieved breath he exhales.

_Don’t put any stock in it. Or hope._

To your own relief, though, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just shifts a little closer, his head above yours, and tightens his arm around you. You close your eyes, just letting his warmth and hold soothe you, for now.

The end of the world and expectations can wait for a night.


End file.
